Scone or Scone?
by magentacr
Summary: A 221b oneshot. Sherlock and John dispute the correct pronunciation of the word Scone.


**AN: Inspired by all the scones and clotted cream I've been eating this week, and the ensuing debates with my husband about the pronunciation. As ever I do not own Sherlock.**

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John slumped into his armchair with a sigh. He looked at the morning light streaming through the window, then down at his watch. 9:17. They'd been so busy sorting through evidence and sticking it up on the mirror for Sherlock to examine they hadn't even noticed the sun coming up. All night they'd been on this case, and they'd been stuck in a rut since… was it 2 or 3 this morning? Either way, he was done with staring at the data trying to make something of it.

He glanced back at Sherlock, still standing with his hands steeped under his chin in front of the mind map. He wasn't even looking at it, his eyes were shut; he was deep in his mind palace, trying to pull up anything else that might help them. If Sherlock was struggling, there was definitely nothing John could do. He'd leave it to the consulting detective. Rubbing his eyes, John briefly wondered if it was worth slinking off to bed, for a quick nap. But knowing Sherlock, the second he shut his eyes the detective would get it, and shout for his blogger to follow him on the next leg of their investigation.

Just then John heard the door open and shut downstairs, and the tell-tale sounds of Mrs Hudson bustling about. A minute later she poked her head round the door into the flat.

"Oh, look at the two of you. Have you been up all night working on that?" She enquired with her usual motherly fondness.

"Yes, Mrs Hudson" John answered tiredly.

"No wonder you're looking so tired. Have you had anything to eat?" Mrs Hudson asked again, wandering into their kitchen and looking around for any evidence of food. She checked in the fridge and quickly closed the door again. John didn't have to guess what she'd seen in there; he'd reacted the same to it.

"Not unless you count the bag of crisps I managed to grab from a tube station shop last night, while Sherlock investigated the victims flat…. And left me outside. _Again_." John answered her question, shooting an annoyed glance at the detectives back.

"Well that won't do at all. Good thing I've just been to the bakery. How does cream tea sound?"

"That sounds wonderful Mrs Hudson. Thank you." John told her sincerely.

"Alright, well you pop the kettle on, and I'll go get the rest from downstairs." Mrs Hudson instructed, disappearing out the door again, as John heaved himself out of his chair.

A few minutes later they were all set, with 3 steaming mugs of tea (just in case Sherlock decided to break his rule of not eating when on a case, and join them) and plate of scones, complete with jar of jam and pot of clotted cream. John took it easy on the cream, but did spread a generous helping of jam on his scone, before taking a bite.

"Mmm, these are good scones." John commented.

"_Scones._" Sherlock corrected, his eyes now open and staring accusingly at John's reflection in the mirror.

"Sorry?" John asked, surprised that Sherlock had heard at all. Usually nothing broke his concentration when he was in his mind palace.

"It's pronounced _Scones_, not **Scones**." Sherlock elucidated, now turning to look at John over his shoulder with an impatient expression.

"Er, no." John said stubbornly, taking another bite of his scone.

"No? What do you mean, no?" Sherlock asked, turning around fully now, impatience morphing quickly past irritation and to offence. "Are you seriously questioning my diction?"

"No, you can call them _Scones_ if you like, but I say **Scones**." John told him casually unaffected by Sherlock's mood.

"Then you say it _wrong_." Sherlock insisted, practically snatching up is teacup, maintaining just enough control not to spill it.

"There is no right or wrong in this case, Sherlock. There's just two different versions because people with different accents read the word differently. Like when Northerners say _grass_ instead of grass. You wouldn't correct them would you? What am I saying, of course YOU would. Anyway, my point is; I'm not sure which version came from where, all I know is my motherpronounced it **Scones** so I do too." John explained, finishing his first scone and brushing the crumbs off himself before starting to make up his second.

Sherlock listened to John's rant before putting down his teacup with a sigh, and picking up a scone himself, coating it in copious amounts of cream, with very little jam.

"_Scones_ were invented in Scotland, somewhere around the 16th Century. The name was derived from the Gaelic word Sgonn, or rather the term Sgonn arain, which means block of bread. Therefore the correct pronunciation is _Scone_ not **Scone**." Sherlock clarified, giving John a 'believe-me-now?' look, before turning back to the mind map and taking a bite out of his scone as he looked at it.

"Fine. Know-it-all" John muttered into his tea.

Seconds later Sherlock spun around again, his eyes alight with excitement as he threw his unfinished scone down and made for the door to don his coat and scarf.

"I've got it! Let's go John, we need to get back to that apartment, there's some vital evidence we need to pick up."

"I thought you had everything you needed from there?" John asked, his mouth full as he tried to quickly finish his scone.

"Hurry up John, we need that saucer!" Sherlock insisted.

"What saucer?"

"The saucer with the cream, on the side! There were no crumbs in it, it wasn't leftover from a desert, and who eats desert of a saucer anyway? Not spilt from a drink, there was no cup, so why was there a saucer of cream? Obviously for a pet. She was allergic to cats, so what else would she have been feeding the cream to? We need to analyse the saliva on that saucer John, and find out just what she was keeping in that apartment." Sherlock filled him in as John got his coat pushing him towards the door before he could get it on properly.

"Alright, alright, I'm going. Thanks for the **scones** Mrs Hudson!" John called back to her as he was rushed out the door.

"_Scones, John!_"

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**AN: And before you ask I'm not going to say which pronunciation is bold and which is italics. I'll leave you all to your own deductions. For my regular readers, you might be glad the know that the outline for part 3 of my Sherlolly story is currently whirring around my head, waiting to be filled out and typed up, so hopefully that won't be far behind. :D Thanks for reading. **


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